


We're Silly People

by TheOceanIsMyInkwell



Series: I'm Peter, I'm 19 and I Never Learned to Read [10]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Coming Out, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Gen, Humor, LGBTQ Themes, Lesbian Michelle Jones, Polyamorous Character, Polyamory, Trans Peter Parker, Unrequited Love, a criminal amount of references to Dickinson bc that show is my life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-08
Updated: 2020-05-08
Packaged: 2021-03-02 17:49:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24080860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheOceanIsMyInkwell/pseuds/TheOceanIsMyInkwell
Summary: Peter’s eyes are trained wholly on MJ's face. The flop of curly bangs over her forehead, the dusting of pink over her cheekbones. Her crooked front tooth biting down into her bottom lip.“What?” she says sharply. “What.”He shakes his head. “Just--that’s the longest string of words you’ve ever said together since I met you.”“Untrue. There was that presentation for Mr. Valenzuela and I spoke for an entire five minutes.”“InSpanish, and it was five minutes on why the textbook’s representation of Hispanic food was reductive.”“It was reductive,” MJ says in a bored tone.“I agreed with everything you said,” says Peter. “That being said, my ears bled.”“Then let’s shut up and watch Sue and Emily pine over each other instead.”“No.No. I want you to keep--gushing about Gwen.”“I do notgush. I...elaborate. With the power of my keen observational skills.”--On a rare night hanging out alone, Peter and MJ get to talking about their relationships and Peter comes out to her as polyamorous. To his surprise, she already knows he's been in love with her since high school.
Relationships: Michelle Jones/Gwen Stacy (background), Ned Leeds/Peter Parker (background), Peter Parker & Michelle Jones
Series: I'm Peter, I'm 19 and I Never Learned to Read [10]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1394110
Comments: 28
Kudos: 79





	We're Silly People

**Author's Note:**

> Oh, look! It's me! Back at it again with projecting all my specific gay experiences on Peter Parker as catharsis because I can't afford therapy!!
> 
> This one's super personal. I just recently came out to my partner as polyamorous (and they came out to me as the same, as well--I'm so blessed to have found them, my soulmate) and boy was it a nerve-wracking experience. Every poly person's journey is different, of course, so Peter's thought process here is reflective of my own as I work through a probably unrequited crush and the guilt complex pressed upon me by the religious monogamous environment I grew up in. MJ is cool and badass and supportive, just like my friends who are cool and badass and supportive. <3
> 
> Theme song and title inspiration: ["Silly People" by Blanks](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YNYPlR1_OjI)

“You don’t have anymore Sunkist.”

“I’m positive it’s there,” MJ says, not peeling her eyes yet from her phone in her lap, lest she have to look up and fix her gaze on Peter’s ass bent over the mini-fridge in her dorm room and have to deal with...all that.

“Well, it’s not. If you lured me up here with the promise of Sunkist only to bait-and-switch me with Arizona, I’m suing.”

That pulls MJ’s eyes away from her screen to meet Peter’s. Fortunately, he’s straightened from his compromising position and turned to face her, lip jutting out in a pout and eyes squinty in accusation.

"You against me, the pre-law student? Daring."

"Spicy," Peter corrects her. "I like to bite off more than people think I can chew. Historically, I have the perfect metabolism for that."

"And historically, it's been entertaining for everyone but you," MJ says flippantly. "Could you pass me an Arizona?"

Peter rolls her a look. Without turning around, he reaches into the fridge behind him, grabs one of the bottles of iced tea and flips it in the air toward her. She catches it with supreme hand-eye coordination, lifting a brow in his direction.

"Okay, I admit that was cool," says Peter. He shuffles forward and bops his forehead against her mattress. He mumbles into the bedspread, "Why you gotta be so cool? I had to--freaking _mutate_ to get a Spidey sense fast enough to let me do that."

"Who said you're not cool?"

Peter's hair rasps against the comforter as he rotates his head to look up at her. "Exsqueeze me?"

She rolls her eyes. She pats the dent in the blanket nest beside her to prompt him to climb back up on the bed. "You can be cool. Sometimes."

"I thought you thought no one is cool. Except maybe Gwen."

Peter doesn't miss the way a blinding flush of sunniness shoots across MJ's face at the mention of her girlfriend, moments before she catches herself and schools her expression into its normal appearance of ennui.

"You're cool," she repeats. "Gwen is divine."

"Aha. Is she who you're texting?" Peter steals the Arizona bottle from MJ's hand for a sip. He dives then for the phone, but the girl is faster and she sweeps it out of reach.

"No. _No_. No snooping at other people's girlfriends, Peter."

"Yeah, not like I'll see her anyway as soon as she comes back from Target," Peter grumbles. "I know what she looks like."

"So then why do you need to see my phone?"

"Because. That's where you keep all your hella aesthetic pictures of people."

"I do not." MJ snatches the bottle back. The boy steals her bag of Rold Gold this time and pops a pretzel in his mouth with a triumphant crunch.

"Michelle," Peter says, in a ridiculously serious tone around a dry mouthful of pretzel. "It's perfectly all right to take beautiful pics of your girlfriend. It's called being in love. You should try it sometime."

"Mind your own gayness."

Peter lays a hand over his heart as if he would faint. "I'm bisexual, Em. I'm twice the gay and I need to know everything about everyone. Immediately."

"That's not the bisexual talking, that's the Tony Stark spawn talking."

Pete bats his lashes at her with a beatific smile. "You're learning."

She levels him with a single unimpressed look, then plants the palm of her hand over his face and shoves it away.

"Ow! This is a hate crime!"

"We're both gay, you moron."

"It's gay-on-gay violence!"

MJ briefly deigns to acknowledge God's existence for the purpose of lifting her gaze heavenward. "Do you ever, like, stop and listen to hear what you sound like?"

“My therapist said it’s good to actually air what’s on my mind before it festers. Also, I have ADHD.”

“You think you’re cute, don’t you.” She rolls her eyes at him again and reaches around his torso to tap the spacebar on his laptop to wake it up and start scrolling through Netflix.

Peter sticks out his tongue at her from somewhere above her head. She may not see it or possess his Spidey sense, but she knows him well enough to have ninety-five percent certainty that he’s being juvenile again.

They settle on the third episode of _Dickinson_ , eventually, and Peter simply hums and continues munching as MJ starts to mumble critiques of the historical accuracy of the costumes juxtaposed with the modern flairs in design.

“She really is divine, though,” MJ says eventually.

Peter thunks his head back against the white-washed concrete brick of a wall. “Who, Emily?”

“Well, all girls are divine,” MJ concedes, “but I was talking about Gwen.”

Peter looks at her. He’s vibrating slightly, all light and softness and understanding. “Yeah?”

“She’s--” MJ bites her lip. “She’s the complete opposite of me. And I always swore the whole _opposites attract_ mantra was all bullshit born of some rapid dating culture, and I was like, I’m such a weirdo that I don’t think anyone remotely _normal_ could possibly like me, or--if I could like them back, but--” 

In the gap of the silence filled with MJ’s breathing, Peter’s fingers crawl over her flannel-clad arm and nestle in the folds there, tugging at a loose thread from the cuff of her shirt.

“But here you are,” Peter finishes for her.

“Here I am,” she agrees. “One minute I was doing deep breathing exercises to keep myself from screaming at her for playing her squeaky guitar at eleven in the evening, and then the next thing I knew I was--kissing her at a Halloween party and smearing glitter all over her face and--climbing up a hill to sleep under the stars with her.”

Peter’s eyes are trained wholly on her face. The flop of curly bangs over her forehead, the dusting of pink over her cheekbones. Her crooked front tooth biting down into her bottom lip.

“What?” she says sharply. “ _What_.”

He shakes his head. “Just--that’s the longest string of words you’ve ever said together since I met you.”

“Untrue. There was that presentation for Mr. Valenzuela and I spoke for an entire five minutes.”

“In _Spanish_ , and it was five minutes on why the textbook’s representation of Hispanic food was reductive.”

“It was reductive,” MJ says in a bored tone. 

“I agreed with everything you said,” says Peter. “That being said, my ears bled.”

“Then let’s shut up and watch Sue and Emily pine over each other instead.”

“No. _No_. I want you to keep--gushing about Gwen.”

“I do not _gush_.” MJ snatches the bag of pretzels back from him and and fishes around for one of the broken bits, the ones she likes best because she can nibble off the odd corners and suck on the salty tip. “I...elaborate. With the power of my keen observational skills.”

Peter takes the liberty of dropping his head on MJ’s bony shoulder. “Sure, Jan.”

MJ scrunches up her face in a grimace. She goes in for a smack at Peter’s head, but he catches her wrist and flings her hand back before it can even come in contact with his nose. Damn Spidey sense.

“Watch the show,” MJ mutters.

“Tell me about Gwen,” Peter singsongs back under his breath, eyes closed. The moron.

“I didn’t invite you up here just to have you munch on all my student loan-sponsored snacks and watch our show all by myself.”

“And I came up here with the distinct impression that I was getting the hot gossip.”

“Disgusting,” MJ intones. “You hang out with Harley too much.”

“I was an Avenger on another planet for like, fourteen hours and I was asleep in a fuckin’ amber stone like a prehistoric ant for five years. I deserve to be petty just this once.”

“Okay, fine. _Fine_. What do you want to know about her?”

“Oh, geez, don’t talk about the love of your life, then,” Peter sasses her. He cracks open an eye to slide a mildly challenging look her way.

“She’s beautiful,” MJ relents. “She’s artistic and musical. She makes me like _Hamilton_ unironically. When she smiles I feel like I never knew what it was like to be born again before then. It’s disgusting.”

“Revolting,” Peter agrees. “Go on.”

“She can’t stick to one topic to talk about but it’s actually--cute? Not annoying. Everything is basically a joke to her. She sets sixteen alarms for the morning and gets up late, every damn time, but I can’t be mad at her. And she somehow looks _gorgeous_ even with her stupid twisted-up french braid and those--fucking bags under her eyes.”

Peter sits up slightly. Arms crossed, weight still leaning against the side of MJ’s arm. “Oof. You’ve got it bad, Em. You’re really in for it now.”

“I know,” MJ whines. Actually _whines_. “This is what you were like around Ned ever since I knew you and I wanted to defenestrate myself the day you two made eye contact across the classroom in the middle of his speech on oil spills. Now here I _fucking_ am.”

Peter giggles. It’s soft and throaty, only halfway there. He looks golden and tired in the stream of late afternoon sun that slants through MJ’s open window. He looks like everything MJ wants to feel, content with the knowledge that he’s marrying the one he loves as soon as they get out of college, and filled with the soft assurance that there’s going to be a sweet text from Ned and another everyday pizza date with him when he gets back to the campus of MIT. MJ is--she’s all whirlpools of confusion and denial and giddy, heady hesitation on the word _love_ , and she looks at Peter now and envies him, almost hates him and hates herself for how deeply she longs to be where he is now.

Peter seems to sense her train of thought, or at least the gist of it, because he unfolds his arms and pokes her in the crook of her elbow. “That sort of stuff never gets old, y’know. You’ll be in your forties and, like, driving a Subaru to the farmer’s market and taking your kids to--like--Paint with Me or something--and then you’re probably gonna look at each other over your bag of fucking radishes and just melt. And it’s just gonna be the same feeling as the first time you fell in love.”

“Look at you being all eloquent,” MJ quips. “Did Tony tell you all that?” She sniffs and plays with the tangle of earphones from the pocket of her flannel shirt.

“Maybe,” Peter hedges. “Maybe I also just know because of--well. Y’know. Ned.”

MJ nods at her knees with a flop of her chocolate curls. “Yeah. He’s--great.”

“He’s amazing,” Peter says, obviously meaning every ounce of forceful affection behind the word.

MJ’s heart thumps once, then twice, then starts up a jackhammering rhythm that sends her wrists and fingers trembling too hard for her to go on untangling the mess she’s made of her earphones. She leans forward, flattening her palms instead on the back of her neck underneath her low ponytail, and she blows out a breath.

Peter reaches over between MJ’s knees to hit the spacebar and pause the episode on the screen. With his toe, he pushes the laptop to the side, right up against her bluebell-printed pillowcase.

“You good?”

MJ nods again, mutely.

“You know you’re gonna be my best man at the wedding, right?”

The girl snorts into her knees. “Only ’cause you know I’d reap your kneecaps if you so much as suggested I’m bridesmaid material.”

Their minds simultaneously shoot to the memory of MJ showing up stag at prom in a coat-tailed tuxedo of dark rust silk. In tandem, they break out into slow, breathless little giggles.

Peter nudges the side of her thigh with his toe. “Serious, though. You’d make the best and most badass speech about how our love is, like, defying all the heteronormative bullshit.”

“A gay Filipino Catholic with a bisexual trans Cuban Jew?” she summarizes for him.

“Delicious,” Peter proclaims. “You can hear the patriarchy quaking.”

MJ chews her lip. She pulls her knees up to her chest and curls her arms around them, then swivels her head to rest her cheek on one knee and regard Peter more closely. “Hey, Parker.”

“Mm.”

“How did you know Ned...was...the one?”

“Like, what was my whole thought process before I flailed over to Tony’s cabin and couldn’t sleep for five hours straight before finally telling him I was gonna propose to Ned?”

MJ’s nose wrinkles at Peter’s ever-present talent for articulation. “I suppose. But I meant more...in general. Like. How long have you know he’s _the one_ , and when did you first realize it.”

“I didn’t,” Peter says simply.

The girl looks at him. She waits. When nothing else comes, she slaps his shoulder. “If you’re not even gonna elaborate, then fuck you.”

“ _Yow_. I was _thinking_.”

“Jesus.”

“No need to call on him now, this here is a private gay matter.”

“You think you’re such a smartass.”

“D’aww,” says Peter. “Love you too.”

“So. Tell me. What do you mean you didn’t _know_.”

“I didn’t mean, like, I didn’t _know_ , I was saying more like I didn’t know he was the _one_. Having _one_ in my life is...is sort of--um--” The muscle suddenly jumps in Peter’s jaw. He’s nervous. MJ can’t fathom for the life of her why, but his nerves are making her nervous, and she shifts on the bed to face him more directly because all of a sudden she gets the feeling he might explode all over her sheets and she might have to catch him.

It’s Peter’s turn to blow out a breath this time. One hand comes up to rub the dip of his sternum, an old habit that died after he got top surgery but which she recognizes from his early high school days as a sign he doesn’t know how to say what he’s about to say.

“There’s...never been...just one for me,” he says carefully.

MJ stares at him. She waits for his lip to tremble, his voice to crack, for the secret to make itself known in the air between them.

He stares back at her. There is no secret there. No shame or pleading, only a steady awareness that they are treading territory he has never tread with her before.

“Do you know what polyamory is?” he asks. All quiet.

“Oh,” she says, and she goes just as soft as he sounds. “Oh.”

Because it all makes sense, now, and her mind zips at a hundred miles per hour whenever she’s just had an epiphany, and this is no different. She remembers the longing glances. Peter’s chin cuffed in his fist, moon-eyed at Liz Allan on a ladder hanging up a banner for the homecoming dance, and MJ’s mental note to herself that Liz actually looked radiant in her corduroy jumper and her perfect waves and her--her poised little smile at the person who handed her the staple gun.

She remembers also the weird little looks Peter gave her in detention, just a bit too long and a bit too interested. She thought it was the teenage boy nerves getting to him because she was such an awkward creeping artist around him.

Then the necklace he got her in Italy, all broken and cute and kind of perfect, really, and how he stumbled around the words in his mouth around her, even as she knew that five minutes later Peter would be dashing into the hotel and Ned would be barreling toward him in nothing but a fluffy white bathrobe and he would pick Peter up and swing him around and asphyxiate him in the hug of his life with that soft release of breath like _you’re here. You’re alive. You’re home_.

She remembers how this was all simultaneous with the bickering, the secret handshakes, the disappearing on falafel dates, the conniving behind the door to the chess club and the skipping school on the same days and the odd crackle of tension in the kitchen when their shoulders bumped over the cookie batter and MJ had to burrow her nose into her blanket and _The House of Spirits_ because it was easier to pretend she wasn’t there watching the awkwardness unfold.

“Hey,” MJ says. It’s a little loud, and sudden. With a firmness she has no idea existed in her chest. “Listen, Peter. I...know. I mean. Obviously I know what polyamory _is_ , but I’ve--never met one. A person who’s polyamorous. But I was referring to the whole…” She yanks at the hem of Peter’s jeans, which is unevenly cuffed at the ankle and has been bothering her since hours ago.

“The whole…?”

“Being in love with me thing.”

Peter freezes. It’s peak comedy, really, how the tension zips straight up his spine and through his shoulders and ends with his fingers clawing up into fists.

“Listen, I--I’m sorry, I didn’t want you to know, I mean, not really, I guess, ’cause I got together with Ned while I was still--and I had to figure out everything, I didn’t have the terminology yet to put a name to what I was feeling, and then we ended up in college and also we had that weird conversation in the bathroom the week before we moved out, remember? When we talked about Harley and you were, like, hoping you weren’t getting replaced in the squad? And I was like, oh, shit, I’ve alienated her that much in trying to make it look like I _didn’t_ have feelings for you? My bad, my bad. And. Um. Ned was the one who actually started the whole conversation that snowballed into my researching...and realizing...and you came out to us shortly after as a lesbian, and--” 

Peter cuts himself short. He’s red, and short of breath, and chomping down on a hangnail with a vengeance.

“And then I told you all about Gwen, and you figured it was over,” MJ finishes for him.

“Yeah,” he says. Bobs his head. “Yeah.”

“I can smell a guilt complex on you the size of this nation’s deficit,” MJ says with a roll of her eyes. “What is it this time? How’d your Parker brain work this one into a guilt trap, huh?”

“I don’t know,” Peter laments. “I just--having feelings for multiple people at once. It’s always made me feel like shit.”

MJ mulls that over. “Heteronormative monogamous bullshit,” she concludes, in a clear callback to their joke from earlier. “Always tying loyalty to religious morality.”

“Yeah, I guess,” says Peter.

“And you couldn’t wrap your head around how you were in love with Liz at the same time you were in love with me, and then suddenly you realized you loved Ned, and you...thought that maybe everything else would go away after you guys got together,” MJ surmises.

“Yeah,” says Peter again, and he is the picture of a miserable little spider-teen.

“This is why you leave the essay-writing to me,” Michelle says flippantly.

“Hngh,” Peter replies. He has his entire face smooshed into his knees. His breath comes in and out in an awful whistle, with a suspicious punctuation of sniffles.

MJ scoops up the bag of pretzels and rolls up the awful crinkly plastic for want of something for her hands to do. She tugs the pink hair tie from her head and slips it around the bag. Tosses it across the room on top of the mini-fridge.

She looks back at Peter. Sighs. She gets up on her knees and shuffles over the sheets to him, and grabs his head between her two hands and guides it back onto her shoulder as she herself settles back against the cold white concrete.

“You can nuzzle me or...whatever. That’s not instantly off the table.”

Peter mumbles something back that sounds like _thanks_.

“So...this whole...feelings thing.”

“Blech,” says Peter.

“Blech,” Michelle agrees with a nod. “But I have to ask. Are you still…”

The pointy end of Peter’s nose stabs her in the collarbone as he twists to hide his face even further in her bony shoulder. His answer is almost inaudible, but she’s been expecting it. “...Yes.”

“That’s okay, Peter.” And MJ really means it.

“’Snot.”

“It really is okay.”

“You’ve got Gwen and I’ve got Ned and…”

“And he knows you’re poly. Me being a lesbian and taken doesn’t make it a crime for your feelings to take a while to die down.”

“Doesn’t feel like that, though.”

A sigh. “I know. See also: aforementioned heteronormative monogamous bullshit.”

Peter chuckles wetly. There’s something suspiciously like the beginnings of tears or snot dripping from him onto the shoulder of her favorite shirt, and she should be mad, honestly, but she’s not.

“What if it doesn’t go away?” he whispers.

She genuinely considers that. “Well. Did your feelings for Liz go away?”

“Well, yeah. But that was mostly because her dad turned out to be an illegal arms-dealing, plane-smashing, metal-flying dude that tried to trap me under, like, fifteen tons of parking garage concrete. So. The whole...trauma of that and the guilt of putting her dad in prison made it kinda hard for me to make sheep eyes at her anymore.”

 _Wait, wait, wait_ , MJ wants to say, because she hasn’t even managed to wrap half her mind around the whole _fifteen tons of parking garage concrete_ bit. She wonders if her brain just might be melting. She also wonders, alternatively, if this is the kind of premature coronary that Tony Stark gets every time Peter Parker traipses into his home with a ripped-up suit and blood pouring out of his broken nose.

“Well, maybe _my_ dad is a super villain who’s making Spidey’s life hell and once you discover that, you’ll never look at me the same again,” says MJ.

Peter pulls away to grace her with an eye-roll and a scoff. “Puh-lease, Em. Your dad is a geology professor and he can’t even work up the nerve to remind them at Burger King that he ordered extra cheese.”

“Touché. Maybe I’ll turn into a super villain myself so we can be arch enemies and _then_ you’ll be forced to stop loving me.”

“No,” Peter moans. “No, no, no. That’s not how this works. You being my enemy is just _so_ gonna make you more attractive.”

“Ugh,” she says, without meaning to.

“Ugh,” he heartily agrees.

“So what do we do now?”

“Uh. Not ‘we.’ This is sort of...strictly...a ‘me’ problem. I’m gonna deal with it.”

She shoots him a soft glare. “No, this is a ‘we’ thing because I know about it, and you came to me, and no matter what I’m still your friend. Who is also gay and, like, maybe not in the same way as you, but in some ways I get you.”

“See, you can’t say shit like that and expect me to fall _out_ of love with you.”

“You’re a disaster,” Michelle says mildly. “Like, you’re valid and I support you, but you are one hundred percent a mutated human gay disaster.”

He wraps an arm around her torso in maidenly despair. “You are so right.”

She hesitates, then curls her arm around his shoulder to smoosh him closer against her chest. “You know...for what it’s worth, if I were a closeted lesbian back in the 1850s and I had to marry a man to make a life for myself...honestly? I would not mind at all you being the one to propose to me.”

Peter stills in her embrace.

Slowly, very slowly, he looks up at her. “You mean that?”

She smiles at him, a little heavy with feeling and meaning, and it makes her want to break out into hives, but now is one of those moments when he deserves to see her without masks or barriers.

“Yeah, I do,” she says softly. “I could even...see myself having a family with you, I think. Like. I wouldn’t actively want to jump out of the carriage or fake my own death and steal your money and flee to Italy or something. I could just...settle down with you.”

“Stop,” Peter whispers, all teary and diamond-eyed. “Stop, stop, that’s the biggest compliment you’ve ever given me and my squishy heart can’t take it.”

She will deny it later if anyone else ever mentions it, but MJ looks at him fondly. “You’re an idiot.”

“I know,” Peter says, flapping the cuffs of his shirt against his eyes to dash away the moisture. “I’m so dumb. My heart is so huge and full of love for anyone and everyone that breathes and _smiles_ at me--”

“Oh, then I guess I should just be doing this, then.” MJ puts on an affected scowl. “There. Problem solved. No more feelings for me?”

“You’re so _mean_ ,” Peter says. “Why do I _like_ you.”

“Honestly, I don’t even fucking know why _Gwen_ likes me. You’re on your own there, buddy.”

“Geez. You’re uninvited from my wedding now.”

“Okay, then. Good luck stopping Tony from sending an army of rainbow iron suits to do a fireworks show.”

“Fair point. Your invitation is on probation.”

“I’ll wear Mom’s lilac monstrosity if you fully re-invite me back.”

“The thing with pretty lace and flowers?” Peter wrinkles his nose. “Ew. No. Please wear a suit and make it a sharp one. If we’re gonna have squad photos for posterity, they’re gonna have to be gay as fuck.”

“So fucking gay,” MJ agrees. “I might even be in a steampunk phase by then. Who knows.”

“That image is not helping,” says Peter. “I love you, but like, I need you to torture me less. Go back to glaring at me.”

She does. It lasts all of two seconds before they burst out into painful, disjointed laughter. The kind that bubbles up between their ribs and makes them forget how they ever know how to breathe in the first place.

“Fuck, oh, fuck me,” Peter wheezes. “We need, like, a plan.”

She arches a brow at him. “A plan to make you fall out of love with me?”

“Yeah-huh.”

“Oh. Well. Hm. First step in that plan might be to forget about this whole thing for now and _actually_ finish our damn show because that’s what you came up here for.” After a moment, MJ softens and amends, “And then after that, I’ll probably have some thoughts. We can talk about it.”

She weaves her hand into his, fingers against fingers, bravely, without hesitation, because he deserves that much. They both do.

And she’ll be damned if he won’t get all the love he deserves in the world, after everything he’s been through.

**Author's Note:**

> Honestly this is probably such a niche pairing/situation and idek why I wrote it, but I felt better after purging my feelings through this oneshot. I do wonder what y'all thought of it! I'm actively writing/co-authoring a bunch of Iron Dad stuff (a Man in the Iron Mask AU and two different 5+1's), so I am coming back to that side of the fandom. But in the meantime, don't be shy to share your thoughts! Please tell me your reactions! I love you all for reading and for existing <3 -kaleb
> 
> muh tumblr: theoceanismyinkwell  
> muh insta: kc.barrie
> 
> [The fic where Peter and MJ had the awkward bathroom conversation](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22207309/chapters/53021494)  
> [The fic where Peter told Tony he wanted to propose to Ned](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19248691)


End file.
